


HYDRA Will Fuck the Humanity Right Out of You

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Punishment, rape/noncon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 14:28:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20893589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Rollins fucks up. Rumlow has to teach him a lesson.





	HYDRA Will Fuck the Humanity Right Out of You

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Rape/Noncon. 
> 
> Prompt: "Maybe a punishment after a bad call during missions, something that sends him to hospital but without permanent damage... I just like it when he gets physically or mentally hurt, anything wil be very apreciate."

It wasn’t something Brock wanted to do, particularly. The sharp sound of skin against skin was almost painful to his own ears. But what else could he do? His SIC had to be taught a lesson, and with HYDRA’s torture-resistant training, there were precious few things left that would make an impact. How else was the bastard going to learn?

As Jack body jerked beneath him, Brock glanced down to the hand on his shoulder and briefly (as briefly as possible) to where their bodies were joined, taking note of the slippery feeling of heat around his dick and the barely audible grunts from his SIC before returning his blank gaze to the wall above Rollins’ head.

* * *

In a way, it wasn’t even his fault, really. But the mantra “nobody’s perfect” isn’t recognized in HYDRA’s creed. He had let their suspect escape, mortally wounded but still alive. Of course, their resources were many and the man was neutralized before he made it another 3 blocks, but the damage was done. Incriminating messages had been sent, ones which could be deleted from the digital world but not from the minds of those who’d seen them. It was going to be a long day for internal affairs, cleaning up this fucking mess.

The drive back to base was silent; ghostly. The agents surrounding Rollins were on edge and angry, knowing his fuck-up might come back to bite them. It was this mentality (which had been instilled in them from the beginning of their foray into the undercover organization) that kept them from trusting each other too closely. A mistake by one might be counted against all, and no one wanted to deal with the punishments their superiors doled out. Especially as any of them might be fatal.

As soon as the parking brake was set the doors flew open, operatives filing out and heading for the lockers, hoping to god this wouldn’t be their last mission. Jack was about to follow them when someone called his name.

“Rollins!” It was more of a bark than anything.

He stood at attention, the sound of his Commander’s voice bringing him up short.

“Sir.” Was he imagining that nigh-imperceptible shake in his voice? He was calm. He felt calm. Why were his hands clasped so tight? He’d been through worse things than a torture session. He guessed that didn’t mean he had to look forward to them, either.

Rumlow didn’t say another word, simply jerking his head for Rollins to follow him. And he did, without question. Always.

He guided them into a small room, one which Rollins recognized as one of HYDRA’s own “interrogation” rooms. They both knew what that meant.

“On your knees, Agent.” Jack’s lips tightened a fraction before he forced his face to relax, putting one knee down on the floor and then the other. On instinct he raised his hands to rest lightly on his head, intertwining his fingers as he did so, before realizing that he hadn’t been asked to do this. He didn’t dare move them now, though. Rumlow’s chuckle at the well-trained agent’s movements sent a burning through him, which he forcibly ignored.

He wanted to talk to Rumlow - talk to him like his SIC, ask him what the fuck the higher-ups were gonna do to him. But he knew that line of questioning would just put him in deeper shit. The sporadic fuck sessions they had and the pillow talk in between didn’t make them friends. Brock WAS the higher-up, and he’d do to Rollins what he saw fit. The thought made him shake.

Brock’s voice came low and gravelly, almost too low for the hidden mics (which they both knew were present) to pick up.

“You look good like this, Jack. Maybe I should’ve gotten you on your knees sooner.”

Jack closed his eyes, willing the image of him sucking off his Commander to go away. They’d never ventured into any foreplay activities, preferring to do the act and then go their separate ways. It was cleaner that way.

“Widen your knees.”

Keeping his breathing steady, he said a quick “yessir” while doing as he was told.

“Good. Now stay like that until I come back. Don’t move a fucking muscle, you hear me?” Brock didn’t wait for a response, just ruffled Rollins’ hair (_‘like I’m some fucking kid or something_’) and left, the door banging shut behind him. No lock clicked into place; it would’ve been an unnecessary precaution. Jack wouldn’t move - not after being given a direct command like that. He’d stay here as long as it took.

And it took. Fucking. Forever. He lost track of time after the first 24 hours ticked by. Ignoring the deep bruising setting into his knees, he focused on keeping his legs - which were now numb and borderline useless - from giving out beneath him. His body shook, there was no stopping it. Sweat dripped from his face and collected under his palms, still pressed flat against the crown of his head. He had to piss. He was hungry. And tired. He attempted to block the fantasy of a hot bath and warm bed from his mind as the cold concrete cut through the knees of his pants, but it was no use. He would stay there and suffer as long as they wanted, but he couldn’t keep his mind from drifting. It was, after all, the body’s natural defense against such measures.

He nearly fell over from the shock of the door crashing open. He felt it more than heard it - the vibrations rumbling through the floor from where it slammed the wall behind it. The soft _thud thud thud_ from his Commander’s boots hitting the floor. He didn’t close the door behind him, which means he wanted someone to watch. Or everyone.

“How was your day, Agent Rollins? You doing alright?” The tone was tender, concerned, and completely fake. Brock knew that Jack knew. They both knew he hated it. But this was his job, and he wasn’t about to shirk his motherfucking duty.

A deep crunch resounded across the room as Jack’s nose gave way beneath Rumlow’s fist.

“I asked you a question, princess.”

“It was fine, sir.” Rollins bit out, trying to keep the blood out of his mouth.

Rumlow gave a humorless chuckle, air blowing through his nose in a tell Rollins had learned long ago: he was acting. This was a show for whoever was watching them right now. It didn’t make the abuse easier, but it gave him something to hold onto.

“You know what’s gotta happen here, right?” Brock asked tauntingly, flicking blood from his gloves. Rollins’ nod was not as firm as Rumlow had hoped it would be - he wanted Jack to be thinking about what he was going to do to him the whole damn day. He was a good agent, never giving them a real reason to punish him. They still did, of course, but nothing too severe. Until now.

“Unzip your tac pants and pull them down to your knees.” His voice was firm, as a commander’s should be. Rollins tried not to let his cock twitch too much as he did as he was told.

“Good boy. Now lean over like a good little bitch and let me show you what happens to agents who don’t do their fucking jobs, hm?”

As was expected, Jack leaned forward, his arms buckling beneath him. This earned him a laugh. The clicking of metal and the slide of fabric sounded behind him as Brock stepped forward, planting one knee between his legs and pressing it against the inside of his thigh.

“You know what they say here: ‘order comes through pain.’ You ready for yours?” For his own comfort and to keep things moving along nicely, Brock gave him the courtesy of slicking his cock with a minimal amount of saliva before pushing into Rollins’ asshole. He grit his teeth against the pain - no lube, no prep, just the burn of Rumlow pushing and pulling and trying to fit himself inside. God, this hurt like hell, and he was definitely going to need some medical attention after this. But he’d had worse. And at least this was Rumlow, not some random fuck. At least he liked Rumlow. ‘As a Commander.’ He reminded himself. That’s all.

“Aaaahh, fuck. You making this harder than it has to be, Agent?” Rumlow asked, slapping his hand against Rollins’ outer thigh hard as he fought to fuck him, Rollins’ tightness fighting back.

“No, sir.” He hated how fucking weak he sounded. But he'd had no food or water in over a day _at least_, so there was nothing he could do about it but hope Brock would stop making him speak. He only heard a laugh in response.

“Of course you are,” He punctuated his words with a sharp thrust, leaving Jack feeling like he’d been impaled on a knife. “You want this to last, don’t you? You like this. You want me to fuck you in front of all your subordinates because secretly you’re nothing more than a little whore who wants attention. Wants to be shown his place. Isn’t that right?”

When Jack didn’t answer he received a fist directly beneath his ribs. Huffing out a breath, he nearly collapsed.

“I asked you a question. Be a good little whore and answer me.”

“Yes, sir.” He hated this. He officially hated this. He could deal with the torture, the physical humiliation of knowing he was being fucked with a dozen sets of eyes on him (he couldn’t turn to see the door, but he knew the team was there. Why else would they leave the door open?). But being forced to call himself names and degrade himself out loud? That was crossing a goddamn line. And if he ever got out of this situation, he’d be sure to let Rumlow know exactly that.

“Yes, what? Be specific.” Rumlow panted as his hips snapped against Rollins’ own, balls slapping against each other.

“I’m a whore who wants to be shown his place.” He said flatly, with just enough sarcasm to earn himself a fist in his hair. Rumlow yanked back firmly, exposing Jack’s throat, which he took full advantage of with his other hand. Fist closing around it, slowly closing his windpipe, Rumlow’s breathing grew even more ragged as he neared his finish.

“That’s a good whore. I’m going to cum in you again and again, I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t remember your own name. Sound good?”

“Yes, sir.” Rollins choked out. Rumlow took this as a sign that his fist wasn’t quite tight enough. Behind them, they could hear the quiet laughs from the rest of the team, watching the tough-as-nails SIC get pounded by their Commander. It was a good show, they decided.

As Rollins gasped for breath beneath him, his body shaking from the effort of keeping himself up, Rumlow came. _Hard_. His hips slammed into Jack’s, shouting and nearly sending him tumbling to the floor.

He stayed like that, on his knees and forearms, ass exposed to the open air, for longer than he could keep track of. Trying to ignore his leaking cock, he focused on breathing through his mouth, his broken nose finally congealing and no longer streaming blood everywhere. Rumlow had taken a seat against the wall behind him, either resting or enjoying the view (maybe both, he decided). When he heard his commander shuffling forward once more, he took as deep a breath as his damaged throat would allow, readying himself for the next bout of fucking.

At least this time he was stretched and lubed up from spit and cum. Thank god for small mercies, right?

* * *

An interminable amount of time and rough fucking passed before Rumlow smacked his ass one last time and ordered him to get up. He tried and failed, of course, falling to the floor with a heavy thud. Arms and legs giving out beneath him. He could barely move as the medics came and hoisted him onto a gurney. Rumlow, that goddamn self-satisfied smug sonofabitch, lounged casually against the back wall, arms crossed looking like he was watching something particularly uninteresting go down. Now that the punishment was over and the recovery time was beginning, Rollins didn’t feel bad about sending him a one-finger salute as they wheeled him from the room.


End file.
